


Block Poppin' Beats

by OceanofNoise



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gym AU, M/M, bad singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4482290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanofNoise/pseuds/OceanofNoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We work out at the same gym and you always look super legit but I know you sing One Direction in the shower and you know I know."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Block Poppin' Beats

**Author's Note:**

> This is yet another [TheSinBin prompt fill](http://thesinbin.dreamwidth.org/1580.html?thread=2424620#cmt2424620).
> 
> I seriously need to apologize for spamming this pairing so much. It's like a sickness. The off-season cannot end soon enough. Also, I didn't realize that this AU was a thing until I'd googled it after writing it so, uh, I hope it actually fits the prompt.
> 
> The title is inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTxOKsyZ0Lw) by The Chemical Brothers.

Despite the razor sharp attention to detail required of him in the position he held in the accounting department of one of Canada's better known grocery chains Claude Giroux would not consider himself an observant human being. In fact, he would've had to have gone out of his way to not notice one particular patron at his gym who came and went like clockwork. The data he'd amassed of Sidney Crosby would make it seem as though Claude had a particular interest in this particular patron but it really was not so. Really.

The times that Sidney Crosby went to the gym (Wednesdays and Thursdays at 7pm, Saturdays and Sundays at 9am) just so happened to correspond with Claude's availability. And Claude being privy to Sidney Patrick Crosby's home address and place of work? Their lockers were in the same section and from a distance Claude's navy gym bag looked like Sidney's black one. As for memorizing his date of birth and height, well, Claude was a numbers guy, what could he say? (Besides the fact that the driver's license photo of Sidney was awful and was by no means a fair representation of the man himself.)

The guy was an absolute beast. Claude did pretty well for himself-played in an amateur hockey league and fit in tennis and golf as much as he could and trained as much as possible to maintain his competitive advantage-but Sidney was in a league of his own. His tree trunk legs had muscle practically bulging through his skin and whenever they'd crossed paths in the shower room Claude had never been disappointed.

It was just simple admiration. People who worked for banks didn't have bodies like that. Nor did they look like the lead male in romantic dramas (which Claude most certainly did not watch). Establishing a line of credit would have been a much pleasanter experience had Sidney been _his_ financial advisor.

Claude wasn't, as his roommate Brayden put it, stalking Sidney. Nor was surreptitiously snapping a photo of him while he worked out considered trespassing. (Geez, give a guy a police badge and suddenly he fancied himself an authority on personal and property rights.)

Claude had just done it to prove a point.

"Him being hot doesn't make you any less pathetic," was Brayden's counter-argument. His professional advice that Claude cease and desist was equally unhelpful.

"Have you even talked to him?"

To that Claude took personal offense. "Of course I've talked to him." The details or the context didn't matter. So what if the majority of their interactions consisted of murmured apologies after bumping into one another in the locker room? And so what if most of those encounters were orchestrated by Claude himself through precision timing? He was just trying to find his moment, that was all.

Off the skeptical narrowing of Brayden's eyes, Claude conceded "He's only been going to my gym for like a-" month tomorrow, according to the membership card in his wallet "-week."

"I'm going to take that as a no." Brayden crossed his arms over his chest. "This is how a good number of fatal obsession cases begin."

"I barely know anything about the guy. Do a simple background check and you'll probably get even more info than me. Besides, it's not like I've ever followed him home or showed up at his workplace." And he could have if he'd wanted to. He just chose not to. This psychological assessment was insulting. And Brayden thought _he_ was the crazy one.

"All right G, but if he's reported missing you know I'm obligated to turn over any evidence or leads I have, right?"

 

Brayden didn't have much of a point, but Claude could ascertain from their conversation that he ought to make more of an attempt to get into Sidney's good graces (with the aim of eventually getting into some other things of Sidney's. Dream big right?). Maybe welcome him to the gym, show him around a bit? (Didn't look like he needed any instruction though. Catching a glimpse of him on the rowing machine the other day was mesmerizing. What? Glimpses didn't have defined time limits.) Ask him for a demonstration of his workout routine, perhaps? (For educational purposes of course.)

He was determined to make direct eye contact that day (and if that went well, maybe even string together a conversation consisting of two or more words).

Such a simple endeavour was taking longer than expected. If he didn't accomplish his goal soon he'd miss the new episode of _Modern Family_. Like hell he'd miss _Modern Family_ , not even if Sidney continued his workout sans shirt. (And believe him, Claude had been tested on more than one occasion.)

Nine o'clock had come and gone before Sidney wiped down the bench press and began gathering his belongings. Thank God. Claude could only walk on the treadmill while feigning interest in the local news playing on the suspended televisions for so long. Sidney was always in the zone during his workouts. Didn't talk. Barely even blinked. Claude's objective for the night could probably be accomplished during the post-workout. He packed up his bag and left the sparsely patronized gym for a quick shower.

He was not looking to establish any contact in the shower room, of all places. Claude had boundaries, after all. (Besides, he didn't want any moisture voiding the warranty on his phone.)

He heard it before it saw it. At first he thought maybe someone had brought in a waterlogged radio. Because despite the enthusiastic beat, it definitely sounded off. He'd heard that One Direction hit so often that it was impossible to not only identify it, but recognize that something about the timing or the tuning was amiss.

The demented siren song continued. Beautiful it was not, but Claude felt compelled to follow the voice further into the shower room nonetheless.

Through the wafting steam he could determine two things: that there was only one person showering and that person was Sidney Crosby. Ergo-

Sidney's head darted suddenly at the sound of Claude's flip flops skidding against the slick tile floor. He could tell, in that brief moment their gaze was locked, that the terror in the other man's eyes was real. The only sound left echoing was the running water, and even that ended after Sidney turned the shower off and grabbed his towel so quickly that it snapped back and hit him.

He'd never seen someone with glutes that gigantic move that fast as Sidney made his hasty getaway out of the shower room.

But hey, at least Claude'd achieved his goal for the session. Totally worth missing his show. Witnessing a gym rat belt out the lyrics to "What Makes You Beautiful" in the nude? The writers of _Modern Family_ couldn't come up with that kind of entertainment if they tried.

 

Claude was anticipating their next meeting all day, but didn't expect it to come before dinner during a visit to the nearby health food store. It was even more satisfying to see Sidney practically jump out of his skin at the sight of Claude in the supplements aisle.

He relished in his newfound power. He hadn't the articulation or the mental wherewithal to say it out loud, but he managed to contain "We work out at the same gym and you always look super legit but I know you sing One Direction in the shower and you know I know" in a simple smirk that sent Sidney skittering away to the protein powders.

Their next encounter came shortly after.

Sidney, thankfully, did not walk out of the locker room. Instead, he took a seat beside Claude on the bench and placed his gym bag at his feet as he began fiddling with his combination.

There was a short pause while Claude tried to determine the best way to break the ice.

"I have a younger sister." For a baffling moment Claude was afraid to make the connection between the supposed non-sequitor to himself before the Sidney continued. "She listens to a lot of that kind of music. It gets stuck in your head, you know?"

Finally, he had real, meaningful contact. "Even worse than my sister. And she tried to convince me that I was adopted."

Sidney chuckled at the ground, then turned to Claude with his hand extended. "I'm Sidney."

"Claude." He took the proffered hand and shook it. "I see you here a lot. I mean, you must need to work out all the time to be able to do the stuff that you do."

"I like to keep my conditioning up," Sidney said unapologetically. "I think it's important to push yourself because that's how you get better."

"It really shows." A good, ambiguously flirtatious remark to test the waters.

Claude's daring was rewarded by a pleasing pinking of Sidney's cheeks. "Not that you need any help, but I could show you my routine. If you're interested."

Interested was an understatement.

Throughout the demonstration Sidney showed why he trained as rigorously as he did: he, like Claude, was a sports fan. And he, like, Claude, had a sister who was also athletically gifted. And Sidney, like at the gym, did a little bit of everything and didn't consider a lack of natural talent at any specific element of a sport as an excuse to give up on it.

This guy was even more hardcore than Claude realized. (Also he looked hella fine sweaty and panting for breath.)

"My biggest love will always be hockey," he said while they towelled off. "I always wonder what would have happened if I had tried to go pro."

"That makes two of us." For Claude it was still a very contentious topic and he could jaw about it for hours in the right company.

"Maybe you could tell me more? Maybe over coffee?" Sidney turned to Claude with a hopeful smile.

"What, like a date?" Claude smiled back. Suck it, Brayden.

"Maybe?" God, his smile was gorgeous.

After a month of determination he'd finally bagged the biggest prize at the fair. He deserved to have some fun with it. "And what makes you think I'd want to go on a date with you?" Claude supplemented this with a teasing slide of his hand against Sidney's forearm. "I've heard how you sing."

"That's a strike against me, I know," Sidney said, still grinning. "But... I've noticed the way you've been looking at me. And maybe you didn't see it, but I've been looking at you too."

 

They exchanged phone numbers and promised that between all their work, workouts and league commitments they would find time to meet up outside the gym. (And he had a great display picture for Sidney's number already on his phone, so look how that worked out.)

"There's this healthy juice and smoothie place I've been wanting to try," Claude suggested. "It's supposed to be really good and it's pretty close to where you work."

"Sure," Sidney agreed easily.

A beat passed.

"Wait, how do you know where I work?"


End file.
